Chris and Leon: Castaway
by QuestRunner
Summary: Chris and Leon find themselves back in the line of fire, taking up arms against a common enemy-a BOW infected island. In a Crusoe-inspired retelling, our favorite duo must learn to not only survive the harsh wilderness, bloodthirsty monsters, and constant hunger, but also each other.
1. Chapter 1

Leon checked his custom made flask and grimaced. Empty, thanks to the hairline crack visible at the base and the telltale sign of a ricocheted bullet if the small dent was any indication. He knew he should have just ducked behind the ol' Shop 'n Save instead of gallantly rolling out into the middle of the street and busting up BOWs with his trusty Silver Ghost. Now he had no alcohol to mask the physical pain from nearly taking a bullet to the gut and no impending hangover to numb the angst from living day to day in a nightmare. Chris was an idiot. There was no silver lining. Speaking of Chris...

"Hey, Alpha whatever, you there?" Silence. He cursed. It was bad enough they were unofficially partners after the New York fiasco, but now he was stuck fighting the military's battle. Again. "Chris, answer me right now or I'm marching my butt back to civilization and catching the next plane to Fiji." No matter that Fiji was a hotspot for Chimeras right now. He'd made his point.

Chris had half a mind to leave Leon and his drunken butt in the outdoor strip mall. Besides, JC Penney's was having a sale and he knew how much the guy loved his pleather jackets. The former STARS member sighed. No matter how tempting it would be to dump Mr. Perfect Windswept Hair in some Chimera infested hellhole, he had a mission to complete. And he never failed a mission.

"I hear you loud and clear, Bravo Two." Unfortunately. "We've got more bogeys headed north. Cut through the Fantastic Sams parking lot and I'll rendezvous with you in the square. Don't even THINK about zipping in and buying any hair gel on the way. And for the love of the BSAA, find yourself a shotgun. I'm sure if you look in one of the dozens of conveniently placed breakable boxes every few feet you'll find something better than that Golden Gun of yours."

"SILVER GHOST!" came the slurred response through the comms. "And you can't tell me what to do, Redfield!" Chris rolled his eyes.

"Since my call sign is Bravo One and I freakin' outrank you, YEAH. I think I can." He was about to cut communication and make for the square, when Leon's grating voice sputtered in his ear through the static.

"Who was the one who saved the President's daughter?" **hiccup**

"You're also the one who killed her dad, so..."

"Who was the one who went from mall cop to Secret Service agent in the span of one month?" Leon continued. Chris rubbed his temples to rid himself of the growing headache.

"Leon, cut the crap. We all know you're not a real agent. You bought that badge from a Halloween store."

"Who was the one who defeated the Illumidabados?"

"You mean Los Illuminados."

"FINE THEN!" Leon huffed and the muscular operative could hear the clink of metal on metal, as though he'd thrown his trusty flask. Another rustling sound confirmed that Leon was probably stomping through a discarded pile of gross trash bags to retrieve it.

"Remember, the square. 1400 hours." Before the moron could refute his direct order, Chris muted the line with a scowl. Leon was an idiot. There was no silver lining.

Stupid Chris and his stupid orders. Leon skipped the Fantastic Sam's and headed straight to the liquor store, which was miraculously still partially stocked given the looting and fighting. He drained a couple whiskey bottles dry before grabbing a new flask and filling it to the brim for later. Although he wasn't very sentimental and generally liked to travel light, he couldn't bear to part with his cracked flask. He eventually stuffed it in the breast pocket of his jacket; it had clearly stopped one bullet, and could do so again. At least, he hoped this was the case because he never wore bullet proof vests. Too bulky under the pleather.

His comm sputtered to life and he dimly heard Chris's plea to hurry up to the square and what sounded like a barrage of bullets and ominous growls.

"UGH FINE I'm coming, sheesh," he groaned and lurched back out into the street. Oh, crap. Now he was turned around. Which way was the square...? He cast about drunkenly and finally located a bogey smashing buildings in its wake to the north. Some smaller but no less annoying BOWs skittered across its back. Leon gagged. "How's about NO," he said aloud and ran due south as fast as his athletic bod would carry him.

Chris skidded to a halt beside a crumbling concrete structure and secured the charge. He worked efficiently, wading through debris and carnage as he fastened the remaining explosives in place. He'd transformed a single block radius into a ticking land mine with enough firepower packed within the circular charges to lay the entire vicinity to waste. The soldier wiped the beads of sweat from his brow as he surveyed his handiwork. The operation was moving like clockwork. He'd rescued ten adults, two babies, and five puppies from burning buildings, single handedly decimated a small army of rabid split-faced mongrels, and led the bogeys directly into the heart of his trap. Chris scrambled to a nearby rooftop and held the detonator aloft in his hand. Only thirty more seconds until he could blow those BOW scumbags straight to hell. Chris smirked to himself, watching the creatures trot merrily to their fated resting place down the street. A lesser man might've ran away and headed south, someone like—

"Oh crap," Chris moaned out loud. He'd forgotten about his douchewad partner. A part of him wondered if Bravo Two had even made it out of those trash bags. No matter. He could just write Leon off as an unfortunate casualty of war, and have the bum find his own way to Fiji or Hawaii or whatever tropical zombie infested island caught his fancy. Chris gripped the detonator tighter. Ten more seconds until the bogeys entered the danger zone. Five. Four. Three. Two...

"HEEEYYYYYYY...LEON TO THE RESCUEEEEEE." A helicopter-and not a very nice one-careened drunkenly through the air, flown by the equally drunken pilot at its helm. The bogey entourage turned from Chris's carefully laid trap to follow the piece of junk barely maintaining altitude. He yelled into his earpiece, all formalities forgotten.

"DAMMIT LEON!"


	2. Chapter 2

Leon hiccupped as he took a liberal swig of whiskey from his new, intact flask and watched gleefully as one - no, two - hulking tyrants plowed their way toward him. He blinked. Wait, had there always been two tyrants? He only remembered seeing one...unless they were sneakier bastards than the BSAA made them out to be. Or he was just seeing double. The happy sound of whiskey sloshing in his flask reminded him of just how much he'd had to drink since arriving on scene. He heard his temporary overgrown baby partner cursing in his comm and finally located twin Redfields hiding out on a rooftop. Yup, seeing double alright.

"Ohhhhh, so big boss man Bravo gets to find just any hidey hole and wait 'til *hiccup* 'til reinforcements arrive." Leon mashed at some important looking buttons and was rewarded with a riptide of bullets slicing into the undead creatures. The sight was nothing short of lovely. Chris had better be freakin' impressed.

"Hey, you nearly HIT ME!"

God, Redfield could be SUCH a diva.

The monsters recovered from the assault with surprising swiftness. The biggest monstrosity flailed its arms and went into a haymaker rage while a few of the smaller tag-a-longs broke rank and pursued Chris. Soon he'd be swarmed. Leon barreled away from the giant BOW and sent a few more well-placed shots its way.

"Hey buddy, I'll *hiccup* I'll *hiccup* I'll *hiccup*-"

"Please tell me you'll leave me to die a hero's death because that would be preferable to whatever you have planned."

"I'll *hiccup* throw you a ladder! Hop on!" Leon left the cockpit momentarily and did a super awesome mega cool back slide maneuver that was sadly witnessed by no one. He kicked a rope-and-rung ladder out of the open side hatch before returning to the pilot seat. This time he skipped the bullets and unleashed an incendiary on the bogey, who was gearing up for another attack. He heard Chris mutter something unintelligible as he hacked through some beasts with his Bowie knife.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said, THE LADDER'S TOO DAMN SHORT!" Leon rolled his eyes.

"You'll have to figure that out, princess. I'm not the one who's been all cozy and safe *hiccup* on a rooftop the entire time. And I've literally got bigger fish to fry. Heeeelllllooooo, gorgeous," he smirked as the bogey roared and leapt towards his sweet ass BSAA helicopter.

Chris had just speared a series of lesser creatures through the chest using only his God-given hunky biceps and adamantium super knife, when he heard it: a series of clacking claws and guttural groans he'd committed to memory ever since his stint in Africa. Lickers, by the hundreds, scrabbling over the rooftop's crumbling ledge in hungry desperation. Leon's wide arc of pure bullet rain decapitated at least fifty percent of the disgusting horde (okay, Chris was semi impressed with Leon's foresight and quick reflexes) until the barrage stopped just inches from Chris's boots, and an empty bullet casing smacked him in the shoulder (at which point any and all gratitude for drunken Leon immediately ceased).

Leon proceeded to kick down a ladder that fluttered uselessly in the air a good five feet above Chris's head, just as the other fifty percent of living, breathing, Licker scum zeroed in on his location. Chris noticed that the bulk of the rope ladder was snagged on the side hatch, resulting in a ladder too damn short for even the heroic Chris Freakin' Redfield to grab. He yelled as much to his partner of idiotic proportions, but Leon merely rammed the copter into a bogey twenty times its size. The Licker army advanced, forcing Chris to make a split second decision of life or death. Or rather, death or death, because he was sure there was no flipping way Gorgeous Girly Hair could save both their asses flying that sorry rust bucket. He took off toward the roof's edge at a hell or highwater sprint and leapt in the air, arms outstretched toward the swaying rope ladder just out of reach. It was only a mix of Leon's drunken inability to pilot the aircraft in a straight line and Chris's hella good luck, that the ladder became untangled at the last second. The former STARS member grabbed onto the lifeline and cursed as his arms nearly pulled out of their sockets from the force.

"DAMMIT LEON!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Next time you put the word 'DAMMIT' in front of my name, I'm whipping out the swear jar!" Leon replied huffily. He was getting sick of Chris's constant negativity on this already depressing mission. The bogey, upset that its slow as molasses haymaker move had missed the helicopter a second time, roared and shockingly changed tactics. Leon groaned. He should've paid more attention to that BSAA mission briefing video...what did they call this new strain? C-virus? V-virus? Well, it was some lame letter of the alphabet. Supposedly it made its victims more adaptable and able to learn from previous experiences. The hulking monster in his path grasped two squirming handfuls of Lickers and threw them with all its might towards the blonde's perfect angelic face.

"Hey, Kennedy, I'm almost up, don't do any crazy stunts-"

"DAMMIT!" Leon cursed, jerking the controls upward and around to avoid the snarling projectiles. He didn't give Redfield much thought. The guy had freaking tree trunks for arms, he shouldn't have any problems.

"DAMMIT, LEON!"

"Swear jar, Chris! And you're welcome, you ungrateful speck." He heard the BSAA agent grunt as he finally hauled himself into the belly of the aircraft. A loud slamming sound indicated that the side hatch had been secured.

"I'M flying," Mr. Barely There Face Stubble demanded, already reaching for the controls. Leon sprawled over the dash like a child.

"NO!" *hiccup*

An exasperated sigh. "Leon, you're drunk."

"Yeah, drunk on POWERRRRR!" The blonde yippee ki-yayed as he blasted the bogey again. This time, the beast was ready and smacked the incendiary away before it had time to detonate. Leon's Shop 'n Save was demolished in the blink of an eye.

"DAMMIT!"

"Wow, maybe YOU need that swear jar."

"Maybe YOU need to be helpful for once!"

"Hey, I saved ten adults, two babies, five puppies-"

"Yeah, right. Save that for The Hallmark Channel when they *hiccup* make a documentary about your PERFECT LIFE."

"Leon, LOOK OUT!"

A Licker projectile smashed against the hull and sent the copter spinning in midair. Leon and Chris both grappled for the controls.

"IT'S MY PLANE! I SAW IT FIRST!" Leon wailed, pausing only to take another hearty swig. The BSAA operative snatched the flask from Leon's hands.

"It's either the flask or the controls! You can get drunk on whiskey or drunk on power, what'll it be?"

"I-well-"

"Time's up." Chris punched Leon in the face and flipped him out of the pilot's chair. He tossed the flash carelessly behind his back and the secret service agent completed a triple aerial twist somersault to catch said flask, which was sadly witnessed by no one. A second Licker collided with the windshield and earned girlish squeals from both men, which they would later deny.

"I'm gonna bank left, hold on to something!" Chris ordered, ignoring Leon's attempts to regain the prized chair.

"FINE THEN!" Leon slurred and just as he stumbled across the cockpit, Chris jerked the wheel to the right instead. Mr. Perfect Hair swan dived across the interior, managing another swig even as he crumpled against the other side.

"Whoops. Guess I meant right," Chris smirked. Leon-after ensuring that his hairstyle had survived the ordeal-struggled to his feet, sexy swag still intact.

"DAMMIT CHRIS!"


	4. Chapter 4

Leon dragged himself to the copilot's chair and buckled himself in just as Chris whipped out another literal hair-raising spin. The BSAA Captain expertly avoided three more flying Lickers as he threaded purposefully through the center of town. Leon tried and failed to decipher Chris' intentions in his drunken haze.

"Whatcha doing?" The BOW herd below cried incessantly at their elusive prey and followed the copter's path.

"Leading them to my trap." Redfield's tone was clipped. Leon hiccupped. His lush bangs fell model-like across his face, really only serving to obscure half his vision.

"Well, if your plan is to royally decimate this town, congratulations, gold star, you did it." Chris' hands tightened on the controls.

"I set incendiaries all across that block up there." He indicated the Main Street ahead of them bordered by cute boutiques. "And once they step foot inside, I'll manually light them up with some gunfire from ol' Betsy." Leon squinted at the unassuming roadway below, trying to make sense of his double vision.

"You lined those adorable little shops with C4? Awww. I would've preferred you take out the Fantastic Sam's, they never cut my hair right."

"I didn't exactly have a lot of time to work with, now did I?!" Chris yelled exasperatedly. Leon raised an eyebrow.

"And you named the helicopter? How old are you, four?" Chris growled and swooped the 'bird to the side as another Licker swarm was thrown their way.

"At least I look my age. You look like a sad, washed out 30-something trying to hold onto his golden years!" Leon gasped in horror.

"Take that *hiccup* back!"

"No."

"I said, take it back!"

"Now who's the child? And by the way, we all know those bangs are extensions."

Leon brought both hands up to cradle his soft, luscious hair. He hated Chris.

"And now for the fun part," Chris smirked to himself. He allowed the crappy helicopter to falter a few more feet, tantalizing the beasts even more. He smacked Leon's hands away as the officer reached for the knobs on the console. "Who said you could deploy the charges?"

"**Hiccup**"

"That's right, no one did! If you're gonna push any buttons, you can push this big yellow one that's broken all to hell and is only good for activating the fog lights." He waited a beat before adding, "Well, if you can even SEE the button..." The statement got the expected reaction from drunken Leon who borrowed a few choice words from that swear jar in retaliation. Chris rolled his eyes. Ugh. He couldn't believe he was stuck with this childish buffoon whose only talent was mastering the Blue Steel runway look. No matter. The bogey trash below him would go up in flames in another minute or so, then he could swagger back to his BSAA issued bachelor pad and leave Leon to rot in a pile of gross trash bags. Win-win.

"The plane's **hiccuphiccuphiccup** too low," Leon drawled. Chris fought the urge to judo chop the copilot across the chest.

"No one asked you, Leon. And frankly, no one cares. Now go braid your bangs or something while I teach these little SOBs the meaning of pain!" An awkward pause, then—

"I thought they were called BOWs..."

"Shut up Leon!" Chris released the charges and watched as the block radius lit up like a tree on Christmas morning. The bogey threw a few Lickers as a last ditch effort before succumbing to the torrent of fire. The operative almost high fived Kennedy before remembering that he really hated the man and his stupid, bottomless flask and surfer hair. Why couldn't he have been partnered with Jill or Sheva? At least he trusted them to shoot scumbag zombies down in cold blood without the aid of a hair barrette.

"We're too low! Pull up you scuz!" Leon spat. Chris tried to change altitude with little success.

"The blast from the explosion must've damaged the plane! Betsy's going down!" And then, out of nowhere, a Licker rocketed from the smoldering remnants and slammed against the hull. The little plane spun in rapid succession, steering the duo away from the little boutiques, JC Penneys and Fantastic Sams, and toward the conveniently placed ocean and the unknown horrors beyond. Amidst the nausea inducing spinning, Chris found the strength to say the one thing on his mind:

"DAMMIT LEON!"


End file.
